DB Lazarus
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12. Fights & Potions - I
🕑 Added 2024-10-12 04:14:56 +0000 UTCNot knowing what else to do, I followed after him. In the next cavern, the cheering had turned into screeches.
Dorian stopped at the edge of the tunnel and turned his head back to speak. “They went after a seam without telling us. We need to get at least one kill, or they can claim we shouldn't get a cut. Stay close to me and try to finish off what I don’t kill.”
Kill? What the hell? Did monsters exist in here too?
In the back of my mind, something clicked. All the guards faced towards the tunnels into the mines. I swallowed, my grip tightening on my pickaxe.
The screeching grew louder, and Dorian rushed forward only to skid to a stop. Ættir now filled the near empty cave. They formed two loose lines: one around a new hole in the cavern wall and the other in front of the exit to the main cavern. In the black of the newly opened tunnel, red eyes appeared. Two. Six. Twelve. I lost count as the number kept increasing. The shrieks found a new level as slender dark shapes burst from the hole.
Dark as the shadow they came from, the throng of monsters exited as a seamless, black wave. They shrieked as they flowed toward the closest Ættarsk line. The Ættir roared in response. Pickaxes became blurs and arcs of red as the wave slammed into the defenders. The monsters let out shrill cries of pain as crimson arcs cut through the black wave.
It was over in seconds, leaving dozens of dead bodies, some cut in half, and blood and offal spread across the cavern floor. The Ættir slaughtered the first wave.
A cheer rang out, but Dorian had already skidded to a stop. “They’re also damn fools too.”
As we closed on the Ættarsk line, I caught my first glimpse of the attacking creatures. The rodent-like creatures the size of small dogs littered the floor. Large gashes leaked dark blood. Some twitched in death throes. Thank goodness they were dead. Creatures like that shouldn’t exist, not with those long, curved claws and long fangs.
A louder shriek erupted from the tunnel. Ten, then twenty, then—I stepped back as a wall of red dots appeared in the darkness of the tunnel.
Dorian stepped in front of me. “Be ready to fall back to the tunnel to the supply room. This swarm might be too much.”
A black tide burst from the hole and crashed into the Ættir. Crimson streaks and arcs filled the air. The Ættir moved faster than I could follow, but the tide didn’t abate. The rodents clambered over each other to get to the Ættir that had disturbed their home.
Dorian moved up to join, but I couldn't. My feet wouldn’t move.
“Incoming Whirlwind,” came a yell from the Ættarsk line.
As one, the rest of the Ættir stepped back while one rushed forward into the dark mass of fangs and claws. Rodents jumped onto his body, but he shrugged them off as if those sharp claws could not rend flesh. As with the other Ættar, his tunic started to glow red. However, his kept getting brighter until a pattern became apparent. Then the light suddenly vanished as it flowed to his arms and legs.
His whole body blurred. A single arc became multiple. The stands of light wove together until the Ættar was in the center of a crimson vortex. Shrieks from the dying and wounded creatures created an unholy cacophony, and yet the wave didn’t end.
The beasts spilled past him. The Ættir that had stepped back tried to stop what broke through, but they couldn’t get them all.
A black rodent spied easier prey: me. It broke past the line of Ættir rushing me. I stood frozen, still in shock by the situation. It leapt towards me. It opened its mouth revealing long, sharp fangs. I willed my body to move, but fear held me tight.
I was going to die.
A streak of red flashed before my eyes. Warm drops splattered across my face.
“What are you doing? Move!”
Dorian’s voice jolted me to action. I started to step back, but I was too slow. Another two beasts had broken through the ranks. It took them a fraction of a second to spot me. Those pairs of beady, red eyes locked on to me as if I was a damn magnet. They covered the distance between us far too fast. They pounced expecting an easy kill. I had barely raised an arm in a vain attempt at defense.
Another red arc flashed in front of my eyes as Dorian again came to my rescue. My body in the way, the upward cut was awkward, the angle, off. It ended one of the beasts, but only clipped the other.
The black-furred rodent hissed in fury. It jumped at the source of its injury. Even with one of its front legs removed, it still found purchase on Dorian’s right arm. A grunt let me know what his action had cost him. Yet, he still somehow grabbed the snarling beast and slammed it to the ground.
“Finish it. We have more coming.” He didn’t even bother to look.
My heart thudded in my chest. I had just stared death in the face and lived…because of Dorian.
He needed my help.
I embraced the adrenaline surging in my veins, letting it wipe away my fear. I willed my legs forward until I stood before the monster. Dazed from being slammed into the ground, the rodent didn’t move. I screamed as I put in every iota of frustration and anger at my situation into my downward blow. My pick missed its target, its neck, but it still bit into its torso. The rodent jerked, then spasmed before going still.
I had killed it. I had killed—
I forced down a nauseating warmth. This was no different than any emergency. Focus now, process later.
I followed after Dorian. We weren’t retreating after all, and he was more successful in fending off the monsters when fear no longer paralyzed me. Most died in one strike. Those that didn’t, he left to me. I finished those I could, though many died before I got to them. It became clear that he was coddling me, leaving me only the most grievously wounded. I wasn’t offended. My adrenaline could only carry me so far. The pickaxe grew heavier with each swing, and not just from the weight of the tool.
I had never killed. I had never even hunted. I had never before realized that carnage had distinct smells. I had always wanted to heal, not harm. I—
I needed to process later. This wasn’t Earth. These could only be monsters. I had a good look each time I ripped the pickaxe out of one of those things. What else could they be? Those claws, those fangs were designed to tear flesh and to kill.
I doubted that I would feel much remorse after this was over, but even so, I couldn’t do a job where this was the norm. I became a doctor for a reason.
It took me a second to realize why Dorian had set his pickaxe on the ground. He wasn’t the only one. Across the cavern, the Ættir had also relaxed. We were done. We had survived and avoided any serious inju—
“Dorian!” I dropped my pickaxe and rushed over to him. “Your back.” Blood had soaked through the shredded tunic over his right shoulder. I cursed. He had been injured because of me. Otherwise, nothing had come even close to touching him. “Take off your shirt. I need to see the wound.”
He removed it without flinching. Four lacerations and two puncture wounds. Not as deep as I would have expected based on the length of the monsters’ fangs, but he would still need stitches. When was the last time I had sutured a wound? Years. That didn’t matter. I had enough practice during my surgical year. Suturing would be like riding a bike. The muscle memory should remain…
I winced as a surge of information flooded my brain: hold pressure, irrigate the wound, apply antibiotic, suture. 4-0 Vicryl would work especially if paired with a horizontal mattress over a running stitch. Lidocaine would work for...
I blinked, processing the knowledge. What was that? I now knew with crystal clarity the exact steps to properly clean and close a wound. It was textbook. If I had this back at home, I would never have doubted myself. However, now it just highlighted my uselessness. What good was a doctor without tools?
The Quartermaster’s words repeated in my head, “I never send a man unprepared.”
Except she did.
No. That wasn’t fair. She had warned me of danger.
I took a deep breath. Time to forget recriminations. I had a patient to take care of, and I had nothing, not even a—
“Give me that shirt. It’s not ideal. It’s not even clean, but it will work as a bandage. If you can’t hold pressure, I think we can use my coat to tie it tight. You guys have sutures or something to stitch up the wound? I can get them if you tell me where.”
“What are you going on about? These are nothing. We just got a batch of healing potions this week with the last supply run. I am good, and I doubt anyone got seriously injured. We will have enough to go around. Even as a horde, terrorvoles are just a nuisance,” he chuckled, “unless of course you are under level 5 or taken by surprise. Though, I will give it to the Ættir. They know how to fight. That went far easier than I had expected.” He fished something out of his pocket. “You mind dabbing a bit on my cuts?” He shrugged and rolled his injured shoulder. “It doesn’t feel bad enough to need to drink it.”
I took the tube with a stopper in it from his hand. He turned back around, and I had a good look at the wounds. They were large. They should have been life threatening, but they were bleeding far less than they should have given their size. In fact, had they already started clotting?
“You want me to dab the liquid on it? Is this some anes—numbing agent?”
“Numbing? No, it will heal it.”
“Just a dab to heal these lacerations?” I gave the innocuous bottle another glance. It didn’t seem possible, but then again, I had seen a woman close a wound with magic.
“Yep. No need to worry. This grade should work for wounds this size.”
I popped the top and tilted the bottle until the liquid brimmed along the edge. For once, my hands didn’t shake, a marvel in its own right. However, the red liquid in the bottle, not my hands, drew my eyes. Almost the color of arterial blood, the liquid shimmered with its own light.
“Yep, and do you mind hurrying? I know it isn’t bad, but it does sting, and the sooner you use it the fewer complications.”
“Sorry.” I was still stuck on all the ramifications implied by this potion. It was straight out of a fantasy game or movie. It contained…something. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but a part of me—a part that I had never sensed or experienced before coming here—wanted to reach out and touch it, to mold it, to make it mine. That alone was enough to make me believe that this could work as advertised. “We just don’t have these from where I’m from.”
He chuckled. ”Right. I forget that we’re lucky as we mine the main ingredients for these. This grade is probably not available in most parts though.”
“Just dab it on your wound to heal it?”
“Yes. If you can, start with multiple dabs. If not, you can pour some over the scrapes. I hope you won’t need to, we have an allotment of potions, but this crew tends to go through them more than most.”
I dipped a finger into the red liquid, and immediately, my finger began to tingle, though not with pain. I had asked many a person to describe their symptoms to me. This was not like when my numb hand woke up after removing the pressure compressing a nerve or as the novocaine wore off after a dentist procedure. No. It was more akin to when I had stood under high voltage wires…only localized. Still neuropathic, for what that mattered.
I dabbed it on the edge of the smallest laceration, which had already almost closed. The energy in the liquid left as soon as it contacted his skin. I inhaled sharply after I had finished dragging my finger along the wound. In the wake of the liquid, perfectly knitted skin remained—just like the elder [Healer] had managed. Did this world even need doctors when it had things like this?
I stopped my finger right at the edge of the vial. The shock and awe had diminished enough that I could focus on more than just the wounds and this potion. My fingers for once did not shake or tremble. The tremor that had plagued me for years had disappeared. A small miracle, one I should be celebrating, if not for the sweat, grime, and blood caking my hands.
“Do I need to worry about infection?”
I should have asked that before I had closed the smaller wounds. Hell, I should have at least washed my hands with water. How could I forget that? Could bacteria get trapped inside a closed wound and create an abscess? I was using medications I had no experience with.
“In—fec—tion?”
He stumbled over the word. It had none of the rhythm of the Common tongue.
“Yeah, an infe—“
I stopped as soon as my tongue and lips made a familiar movement. I hadn’t even noticed when I had first spoken the word, but just like when I had said hospital with Esper, infection hadn’t carried over to Common. Whatever let me translate English to Common instinctively failed with those words. I saved that conundrum for later and took a different tack.
“What do you call it when a wound gets hot and red and swollen?”
“Oh, you mean when it festers because your elements are off?”
“Yeah. Festering because…the elements are…off.” It hurt just to say that. Did they bleed or leech people too? Perhaps that wasn’t completely fair. They apparently had magic, but I refused to believe bacteria didn’t exist, not when they clearly had infections.
“You don’t have to worry about it if you get to it early enough. However, if you have a major imbalance, the healing potions can worsen it.” He pointed to his back. “Now do you mind finishing up?”
“Sorry. This stuff is not what I expected.”
He snorted. “No kidding. I’ve heard the grade of potion you Humans have access to. But you don’t have to worry. This is the good stuff. You needn’t be so careful.”
